All Sparks Will Burn Out
by ErisandDysnomia
Summary: "I mean seriously! When are these people going to understand that everything comes with a price?"
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hey! So this is my first SPN fanfiction, and if you would be willing to drop a line, I'd love to hear from you. I'm still newer to Supernatural (Walking Dead writer here) and I would love to know what you think about any of it really! This is set around season two!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, and in the following chaper there is swearing, blood, gore, and a really cheesy motel room.**

Chapter One: Hell Hath No Fury

"We're closin' up whether ye want ta leave o' not!" Erin hollered over the cat calling and the drunken arguments. "I want yer mick asses out of here in twenty minutes! Wake up yer friends and start heading out."

There were ten minutes of protest before the men actually got up to fulfill the orders of the young bar maid. She began to start cleaning up the bar, eyes making sure that they men did continue to leave. The shuffling of the drunks was a dance that was repeated night after night after night. She was never quite able to distinguish the steps or the story, but it always left her feeling forlorn and depressed. The men would start the night in high spirits, but by the two am closing marker, the ones left would be singing sad songs to ancestors past or their homeland. The Irish here were heartbreaking.

She couldn't dwell on it however, she had to finish cleaning up the bar before she was allowed to go home, and she didn't want to spend any longer here than she had to. She loved McNeil's, she did. It was warm, and smelled of home, something most bars here were unable to do, but she hated being stuck here day after day after day.

She pushed the thoughts of home out of her head, and drowned a bar rag in the sink of steaming soapy water. She hissed out a curse and pulled the rag out to ring it. Slowly, she began dragging it along the tables of the bar, fighting the resistance of spilled drinks and peanut shells. The lights in the bar were dim as it were, and she found cleaning in this place one of the most difficult parts of the job.

A low moan passed through the empty bar, and Erin jumped. _Th' hell was tha'! I sent them all home._ Erin slowly returned to the front of the store, and reached for the old wooden bat her boss kept hidden there. She knew there was a gun hidden in the bar somewhere, but she didn't know where. That had been Mitch's responsibility. She clenched her fist around the bat, and returned to the front of the bar, where another pitiful moan sounded again.

_There. _Whoever it was, they had themselves holed up in the darkest corner of the bar. Erin narrowed her eyes and slowly started to approach the figure she could now see hidden in the shadows. "Who's tha'?" She asked, voice booming in the silence. She was only answered with another moan. Erin reached back for her lighter, and lit the thing. It cast a faint enough shadow on the features of the figure, that Erin was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Tommy? What are ye still doin' here boyo?"

Tommy McMullen barely glanced her way. He just finished up his glass of Irish, and shrugged. "Didn't want ta be home." He answered. "It's too quiet there."

"Little bit o' quiet might be jus' what ye need." Erin smiled, sitting across from the twenty six year old. He was only one year her senior but three times as successful. He had his third book being published this month, and the last two had been best sellers. But the stress of the success had obviously weighed on Tommy, because as the years passed, the more successful he got, the more of a sickly recluse he became. And if the words of his neighbors were any indication, he was drinking copious amounts of alcohol lately.

"Nah, believe me lass, I've had me enough silence to last a lifetime."

"What's ailin' ye Tommy? Four years ago, ye were one of the da fellas dancin' on me bar, now look at ye? Yer a shell."

"I jus' gotta do one more book, ye understand me? One more, den da story's over, and I can move on." Tommy looked at his empty glass disappointed, then back up at Erin. "But me Muse, she's gone."

"Yer Muse?" Erin raised an eyebrow. "What is dat?"

"She's my creativity, she helped me through the first three books. She gave me every twist and turn, every character study. Everytin'." Tommy's eyes filled up with water. "An' now she's gone."

"Well, she from around here?" Erin asked, maybe they could find her and work out the relationship.

"She's from back home. Hair long an' black, like yers." Tommy explained. "But her skin is fair, and her voice sweet, an' her eyes blue as the sky. An' she's left. She's left and I can't get her back." Tommy shook his head and held up his glass. "Can ye fill me up Erin?"

"Tomas McMullen, get yer drunken ass up and go home." Erin stood up and snatched the glass away from him. "Ye ain't gonn' finish a fourth book or find yer girl getting sauced to the gills in a hole-in-da-wall pub. Ye understand me?" Tommy just looked at her and scoffed. Erin clenched her free hand into a fist. "Get yer ass ta bed Tommy. Now."

"Fine. Whatever." Tommy held up his hands in surrender. His dark brown hair fell in his eyes and his skinny body popped and crackled at the movement it took to bring himself to his feet. "I'll fuckin' leave then."

"Go detox ye dumb bastard. Maybe a sober Tommy will bring yer lass back."

"Fat fucking chance." Tommy muttered before throwing some money down on the table and stumbling out of the bar. Erin tried not to be angry with him, but really, what a child. If he wanted to keep a woman around, he was going to have to start taking care of himself. What had been a broad, happy, penniless kid who came in here four years ago trying to charm a drink out of her had transformed into a rich, successful shell of what once was.

There was a demon dancing in that man's soul. She had no doubt of that.

It appeared that Tommy was going to have to be added to the ever growing list of regulars that she asked God to look out for before she found herself slipping off to sleep.

It was a pity, it truly was. His talent was amazing, and his storylines were realistic and raw and the characters really did become your best friends and you felt everything they did. It was amazing what he could do with words, and yet, there he goes, drinking away his future glass by glas. A true Edgar Allen Poe.

* * *

><p>With the straggler gone, closing the bar became nothing but a cakewalk. She got the tables and counters cleaned off, the cash locked up really good, and everything was restocked. She smiled as she closed the door behind her, and pulled on the string around her neck that held the key. She locked McNeil's up, and sighed, it was nearing three am now, and she couldn't help but think she should've been home at least half an hour ago.<p>

The trek to her home involved three blocks in the cold, and a mad dash down an alley she didn't particularly like, but it lead to her small apartment and its promise of wool socks and a heater. She set off then, lighting herself a smoke to keep her company on the journey home.

Even if it was colder than all hell, Erin enjoyed these times to herself. It wasn't often she was alone with her thoughts, and it was nice to be able to sort her days out like this. Things that went well, and things that were just plain 'fuck' moments. She enjoyed the silence of Southie this time of night.

As soon as the though crossed her mind, Erin caught the end of a muffled noise. She rolled her eyes, hating situational irony with every passing second when she heard the noise again. It reminded her of the way a child sounded before a massive tantrum. The precursor to the storm, and it was repeating, the sound of whimpering and a massive breath.

She slowed down then, and began surveying the area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, trash on the street , the overall aura of 'up to no good', but there was nothing that stood out.

Then, from what seemed like right behind her, a great wailing started up. Erin screamed and whirled around, eyes desperately searching for the sound. Finally, her eyes caught up with her ears, and she saw a woman kneeling down next to the curb. The woman's head was bowed, her arms wrapped around her and she was trembling beyond all belief. Her sobs wracked her frame, and her wailing sounded unearthly. Her long tendrils of hair gathered around her on the ground, giving the impression of dark snakes searching out a meal.

"H-hallo?" Erin mumbled, afraid to set off this woman. But the creature in front of her didn't stop sobbing, her voice scratching and the sound of her wails echoed off the buildings yet no one came to the windows to see what had happened. "Miss, are ye alright?" Erin asked, taking a few steps towards her.

The woman stood up then, and Erin froze. Her long hair came to rest down by her knees and her body almost obstructed by a grey clock wrapped around herself. She didn't stop her wailing, but she moved away from Erin, and then sat herself back down once she had regained their original distance. Her screaming cries returned full force, and brought chills down Erin's spine. "Oy! Woman, are ye alright?" she cried, jogging towards the sobbing mess now. She dropped to her knees in front of her, and the woman lifted her head.

She did nothing but scream and sob, tears dripping down her face so steady it was as if she was bleeding from the eyes, which bore into Erin's from between the strands of dark brown hair. Erin fell back on her ass, choking on a silent scream as she stared at the eyes that the tears leaked from.

They were a vibrant candy apple red. Her pupils massive and her eyes broke with sadness as her screaming continued. She looked at Erin and pointed at the building behind them, and just started her unholy wailing once more.

The young bartender had enough, and she pushed off the ground and took off running towards her apartment. She didn't look back, even though she could still hear the wailing follow her down the alleyway and into her apartment building. She slammed the door behind her and let out her own choked sob. Her body couldn't stop shaking, and her brain didn't have any clear commands for her, other than _run run run run run run run run run run_ over and over and over again. Erin let out another hysterical sob and sunk down against the door.

"Erin, are you okay?" A door on the ground floor opened to reveal the owner of the butcher shop down the street. Mr. Tyler, who was a little more than out of place in their nearly Irish Immigrant neighborhood.

"Oh my God, there's a monster out there, a monster, I swear to ye, she ain't human!" Words poured out of Erin's mouth, coming out as nothing more than incomprehensible vomit.

"A monster?"

"Please Mr. Tyler, I ain't foolin' with ye. She was out there! A monster in her own right, screaming away at the night with her eyes! They were red as fresh blood, I swear ta it!"

"You're not making sense girl."

"Please! Come see! Come kill it Mr. Tyler please!" Erin hopped back up to her feet. "Please, come see. I ain't lyin' to ye."

The butcher frowned, but he agreed to follow the girl to her 'monster', whatever in the hell that may be. Erin looked grateful, and she pulled the door to the building open once more, and she urged the man to follow her.

She slowly led him to the street where she had left the creature screaming. She shivered, remembering the glare in those eyes, and the entire situation. It had been terrifying beyond all believe.

And she was going to have to relive it once she turned the corner.

With a deep breath, she forced herself to turn the corner. She waited for the wailing to scrape against her ears, or for the shifting of the woman's body. But there was nothing. It was completely silent.

"Where…where is she?" Erin asked, eyes locking on where she had last seen her. "She was right there, I know she was. See, dat's where I dropped my smoke when I started screamin'." Erin pointed a shaking hand to the dying ember on the sidewalk. "She was right there."

"Maybe it was just a tweaker out causing trouble or something. Or it was just come crazy nut." Mr. Tyler tried to explain to the obviously shaken woman. "That's probably it. You know how weird some of these folks are."

"Yeah…but she didn't seem high…she seemed…sad." Erin mumbled. After all, the thing had been crying the entire time she'd been screaming.

"Well, whoever she was, she isn't here now. It's alright Erin, you can calm down."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." She mumbled, staring at her dying cigarette. "It had to have been something like that." She gave a small smile. "I obviously just flipped out over nothing."

"A bit of a loon gave you a scare, there's nothing wrong with that." Mr. Tyler assured her, lightly patting her shoulder.

Erin nodded, and walked a little closer to the building. Yeah, this had been the spot, and this was the building. She sighed and looked up, where the monster had pointed. Her eyes narrowed, and she saw movement in one of the windows. Someone else who had heard the screaming?

"Mr. Tyler, do ye see dat?" She asked, pointing up at the window, almost the same way the woman had. Mr. Tyler came to join her, and he squinted upwards.

"Yeah, looks like someone sitting on their window still, although in this cold, I couldn't imagine who wou-" The man's sentence was cut off by Erin's scream as the body in the window suddenly flew foreword, and smacked down hard on the concrete before them. The impact made a horrid cracking noise as blood sprayed against the pair's shoes. Erin blinked once more before screaming again, bringing her hands up to her face.

"Oh my god! Oh my god! It's Tommy!" She screamed, her eyes immediately flooding with tears. "Tommy!" She could only stare at the dull brown eyes, still slightly hidden by his shaggy brown hair. His body was contorted in an inhuman shape, bones poking out of his leg and arm, his jaw had been broken, and his entire face looked misshapen. Blood painted the concrete beneath him, and traveled outwards, finally reaching the dying cigarette and snuffing it out with a final curl of smoke.

* * *

><p>Dean Winchester stared down at the mess in front of him, eyes narrowed in concentration. He had to make sure he did this right, make sure that when he walked away from this, he would be the one smirking.<p>

Carefully, and with no hesitation, he dropped his red chip into the slot on the Connect-4 game that sat in between him and Sam.

Sam, that bastard, wasn't even really paying attention to the game. He had his laptop open, and seemed incredibly interested in whatever he had found. Without taking his eyes from the screen, Dean's baby brother picked up a black chip, and dropped it into a slot four spaces away from where Dean had dropped his, simultaneously blocking Dean's path, and winning the game. "I win." Sam smiled, eyes still on the computer.

"Awh come on man, this sucks." He groaned. "You didn't even look up."

"I don't have to." Sam answered, fingers typing on the keyboard. "I know where you're going to put your chip. It's just logic."

"How could you possibly know that!" Dean asked, trying to toss his red chips through the wrought iron décor of the motel room they were camped out in. The entire thing screamed Dracula's Castle, but it was cheap, so he didn't much care. The black bed sheets with the sporadic 'blood spatter' pattern had actually made him laugh when he'd noticed it.

"Dean, Connect-4 is like, the only game that Dad got for us when we were kids." The younger Winchester smirked. "I know this game."

"Yeah, you're a regular Rainman ain'tcha Sammy." Dean spat back, trying to ignore the dull throbbing in his chest when he thought of his father. His death was still weighing down on him and his brother, although, neither really want to open the can of worms.

"Sam, Dean. Sam. My name is Sam."

"Whatever you say princess," Dean tossed his feet up on the coffee table, successfully knocking over one of Sammy's OCD stacked chip piles. "I'm ready to get out of this town. You find anything?"

"Uhh…" Sam glanced over his tabs. "Got a few cattle mutilation, but it honestly sounds like a few rouge wolves."

"Boring."

"A kid was snatched out of his room, window open, both parents downstairs."

"Oh yeah?" Dean glanced over. "What else does it say?"

"Uh, friends and neighbors really worried, uh not sure where to start. There's an interview from the nanny where she says that she and her boyfriend are really worried. They both loved the kid."

"Ewwww." Dean rolled his eyes. "Sorry Sammy, do not pass Go on that one. Nanny and boyfriend are just trying to create their own family."

"Goddamn." Sam shook his head.

"Shooting blanks here Sammy, tell me you're going to hit one."

"Hokay, here's another one…how about…a successful author jumps four stories to his death in South Boston."

"So?"

"So? Dean, everything I could dig up on this guy, Tomas McMullen, says that he's been living the high life off his books. Two in the past four years, with a third one coming out this month. But, according to his website, and nearly every fansite he has, the series has four books in it. So, why would this guy kill himself before he finished the fourth one? That was going to be payday for him."

"He was seriously making that much off books?"

"Yeah, the last two were both best sellers, and this newest one was projected to be bigger than both." Sam ran a hand over his face.

"Both on the best seller list huh?" Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Someone make a deal to get a better career?"

"It's a possibility…but…if this guy had made the deal, why would he waste six of his ten years doing nothing? And, if the demon came to collect, why didn't he use his Hellhounds to drag McMullen down?"

"Maybe a crossroads demon decided to terminate the contract early? Maybe they can do that?" Dean asked. "Any Demon hints?"

"No omens around the area…and no pattern of random success stories…but…"

"There's always a but."

"There were two witnesses to McMullen's death. And this guy here, Kevin Tyler, says that the only reason he was out there, was because his companion had sworn she'd seen someone with red eyes screaming outside of the building McMullen lived in."

"So, we may or may not have a cheating Crossroader."

"Could be. So, you in or what?"

Dean twisted the ring on his thumb for a second before nodding. "Why not? We've gone on less before right? Besides, it's in Boston. And I freakin' love Boston."

Sam sighed and started packing his computer up. "I'm going to assume it's not for the Bruins…so what? Bartender? Stripper?"

"Come on Sammy? Do you really think I'm that shallow? Maybe I appreciate the town's rich history and their unique culture!"

"Please don't tell me it was another truck stop waitress."

"Wrong again. Think here little brother. Think really hard." Dean ordered the younger with a smirk on his face. Sam's face became more and more confused as he thought about it.

"I'm lost here."

"Boston Cream Pie, Sammy. Boston Cream Pie."

**So, what'd you think? :) Yay or Nay?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Alright :D Got some of you interested, and that's all I ask for! Thank you for the kind reviews and as always, I hope you enjoy greatly.**

**Secondly…anyone else disappointed by 7x17? I ended that episode trying not to throw my remote at the tv…**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, and this chapter has swearing, and Dean being…well…Dean. **

Chapter Two: In Wine, There Is Truth

Sam never really liked sleeping. It hadn't been kind to him since he'd watched Jess burn above him back when he had his old life...the one where Demons and blood and monsters didn't fill every shadow. Now though, sleeping was almost akin to torture. Every time he managed to drift away, it was Jess, it was Dean, beat to shit in a hospital bed fighting off a reaper, or, the worst of it, Sam and his father screaming at each other during that last fight, and then seeing his father on the ground after, not breathing. Dead, just like that, and Sam's last words to the man were allegations that he didn't give two shits about his kids.

He flinched as the sleep was dispelled from his system, and a short dose of adrenaline replaced the darkness. With a groan, he lifted his groggy head away from the window of the Impala, and tried to stretch himself out. He was too big for this car...or any car for that matter.

Sam glanced over to the driver's side, and noticed it was devoid of his brother, but the keys were still in the ignition. With a yawn that had earned his nickname 'Moose', he glanced out the window and was met with the mini migraine that came with staring directly into cheap Neon.

_Lucky Draw Motel.  
><em>  
>Ah, this week's home sweet home. Sam frowned as he ran a hand over his face, feeling the imprint of the Impala's leather interior on his face. Awesome.<p>

He popped the trunk, and went to open the door when he was smacked across the face by the bitter cold that instantly engulfed him in an annoying embrace. "Holy Shit." he hissed as he reached back for his jacket before leaving the car. He went back and grabbed his bag and laptop case when he heard boots approaching him.

"Sleep well little Angel?"

"Shut up Dean."

"What? It's a fair question! You were seriously out too! I had _Enter Sandman_ on full blast for like five miles before_ I_got a headache."

"Yeah well, guess I was just tired." Sam supplied as he blew into his hands. "Shit, let's get this stupid hunt over with. It's cold as all Hell here."

Dean nodded his agreement, and grabbed his bag. "Yeah no shit. Boston isn't exactly a winter hotspot, ya know." He tossed his bag over his shoulder, grabbed the keys, and lead Sam upstairs to a room on the far left. The younger Winchester glanced at the room number, or lack of one...

"Ace of Spades?" he questioned as Dean shrugged.

"What? It's a good song." he defended as he pushed the door open.

Inside, the boys took in the wallpapered walls that displayed the four suits of a card deck in a never ending pattern across the room. The twin bed's comforters were done up like A Queen of Spades, and even the pillows were shaped like spades. Sam looked at Dean, who just grinned back. "Feel like gambling yet?"

"Shut up Dean."

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later found Dean singing Ace Of Spades as loud as he possibly could in the shower, while Sam sat at his laptop, hair drying in curls around his head. Eyes scanned the news for anymore mention of Tomas McMullen. He happened upon the website that looked credible enough, and he read through the words.<p>

**Tomas McMullen is a published author of two bestselling books in the Chained series. The Ireland born Bostonian's life was recently cut short by an unexpected and tragic suicide, before he could complete the fourth book in the series. Fans everywhere mourn the loss of both the author, and the fate of his beloved characters.**

Man, something _had _to be off about that. It didn't make sense, this guy was racking in dough, but he threw himself off a building. Even if he was depresssed enough, he'd have the means to kill himself in a less painful way. But it didn't seem likely that an author would leave his fans screwed over like that.

Sam shook his head and looked up a couple of Boston's newspapers, and looked for the story about Tomas' death. As he reread the article, his checklist formed in his head.

_Check the body  
>Find out what he could about Tomas<br>Find this Kevin Tyler, and find out who was with him.  
><em>  
>Whoever she was, she saw something with red eyes, and if the information was right, she might have seen some pissed off Demon.<p>

Which reminded him...he'd need to see if there was a crossroads around Tomas' house.

Dean walked out of the bathroom then, pulling on a black shirt. "Find anything?"  
>"Not much." Sam admitted. "We need to find out some more about this guy though-"<p>

"Way ahead of you little brother." Dean assured him. "Get a jacket, we're going deeper into Southie."

"What? It's like midnight."

"Yeah, and when I checked us in, there was a sexy little thing talking to the clerk about a bar that's giving Tomas a sendoff tonight. So I chatted her up a bit, and I'm supposed to meet her there tonight. It'll be a boatload of information."

Sam frowned. "You think that's a good idea?"

"Oh yeah. She had an Irish accent, and a tongue ring Sammy. A tongue ring. Damn you ever gotten sucked off wi-"

"So not what I meant Dean. I mean is it a good idea for you to go to an Irish bar?" He shook his head again, ignoring his brother's faraway look. "Aren't like the English unwelcome there?"

"Come on Sammy, does this look like the dark days? I think I'll be fine gathering information with my new Leprechaun friend, and maybe some time after..."

"Yeah well, you information gather on your own. I call dibs on the room."

"Dude you can't call dibs!"

"You call dibs every day! It's so my turn!"

"Call dibs on something else man! I need the room!" Dean slammed his hand down on the dresser. "Tongue ring Sammy! Tongue. Ring."

"Well Dean, if you really do got a leprechaun, then she'll fit in the Impala." Sam threw his legs up on the slightly sticky coffee table and looked pointedly at his brother. "And decide quick, cuz it's past Midnight there, Cinderella."

"Sammy, dude. You are such a bitch."

"You raised me, jerk."

* * *

><p><em>The cigarette snuffed out with a small curl of smoke as the blood reached the dying ember. Erin's body shook as she gazed and the mangled mess of flesh that lay only feet from her. Tommy, Tommy had just jumped from a window, and landed.<em>

_She screamed, and leaped for the body, but Mr. Tyler's arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her back. "No! You can't touch him!" He ordered, as she struggled towards him. "You can't touch him or the police will think you were involved!"_

_Erin froze then, that word echoing through her head louder than any of the screaming._

_The police._

"_Oh no Mr. Tyler, no. Ye can't call them!" She ordered as her body went slack in the older man's arms. "Ye can't call them."_

"_I have to Erin, I can't just leave him out here like this!"_

"_Wait then, please just wait. I need…I have to be gone when they get here." She briskly explained as his arms around her were released. "I don' think my papers check out, and me an' Mitch, we ain't livin' on books either." Her words traveld out of her mouth like vomit. She couldn't control herself anymore. _

_Mr. Tyler only nodded, and jerked his head back towards there building. "I'll wait five minutes. Make sure you're warm in your bed by the time you hear the sirens. I won't tell them who was with me."_

"_Thank ye." She almost sobbed as she threw her arms around the other man. He only nodded, and Erin took off at a run. Looking back only once to see Tommy's dead eyes staring at her. There was no fear, or sadness. He looked almost…better than he had in years. _

She knew_ Erin thought as the steps between her and the body multiplied. _Whatever the hell that creature was…she knew this was going to happen.

_And even though she felt almost feverish between the running, and the energy buzzing under her body, Erin shivered._

Erin O'Conner gave yet another massive jerk as her mind tried to escape the visual of Tomas' body breaking on impact with the spray of blood that decorated the ground beneath him.

_The sight of blood snuffing out the dying cigarette on the road.  
><em>  
>Her hands fought against thin sheets and the one throw blanket her and Mitch owned. She thrashed against the fabric constraints and woke only when she felt her body impact with the artic feel of her apartment's concrete floors. Her eyes flew open, and she coughed out a swear, and tried to pull herself up.<p>

"Awh fuck me." She growled and got up, bringing the blanket around her. "Aye, 'M sorry Mitch. I must be keepin' ye up-" She turned to face her boyfriend, and was met with an emtpy matteress. Her eyebrow's knit together and she looked towards her door. "Mitch?" she called out, and was recieved with a quiet muttering.

Erin's blood froze, and she lost her breath. That creature with the red irises and streaming tears flashed through her mind once more before she steeled herself. No, it wasn't real. No way was it real. It was just her overtaxed mind creating something out of nothing. Afterwords, she'd barrowed her boss' computer to look up the idea of seeing things randomly, and honestly, it had given her a pretty convincing argument. It had been dark, late, cold and she had been alone. Erin was practically the opening scene in every scary movie with that walk home, not to mention the fact that she'd just gotten off work, and had been bone tired since she'd started taking over her and Mitch's shifts separately. So, no matter what her brain wanted her to believe, it hadn't really happened. What was real, was Erin's obvious need for some rest. But that thing she'd believed that she saw?

It wasn't real.

Erin's feet padded against the floor as she walked into the small living room that made up most of their place. Mitch stood on the center of the room, his blonde hair sticking every which way, and paint covering his exposed chest and sweatpants, and most of their furniture. She stood in shock at the sight, and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself. "Mitch?" This wasn't exactly uncommon. It was a side effect of living with an artist. They were prone to random hits of creative intellect.

"Hm." He answered, not turning towards her.

"What're ye doin'?" she asked, eyes narrowed. He turned around and looked almost through her.

"I can see it luv. I can see wha's gonna make us rich!" He gave a vacant grin and gestured to his canvas. "I promised ye everytin', and I'm gonna give it to ye!"

Erin merely rolled her eyes. Yeah, she'd heard all that before. T'was the same snake oil talk that had convinced her to leave the Isle in the first place. "Get ta sleep Mitch. We got a funeral in da morning."

"Huh?"

"A funeral. Fer Tommy? Remember? Our friend fuckin' jumped to his death in front'a me!" Erin yelled, and a foot in the apartment above them beat down on the ceiling.

"Oi! Keep it down!"

"Awh stove it up yer ass ye bogtrotter!" Erin called heavenward. "And ye," her eyes cut to her boyfriend's vacant eyes. "git yer ass inta bed, and be ready fer da funeral tomorrow." She turned on heel, and headed toward her matteress. She fell in face first, and took up as much space as she possibly could now that she knew she had the room to do it.

She hated this, hated everything about it. She closed her eyes and wished it away, the best she could, but when she opened her eyes, she was still staring at her own sad face in the reflection of the glass, and another face was right behind her.

Red irises filling with tears.

* * *

><p>"Come on now boyo, ye ain't even had close ta ten." The pair of emerald eyes glinted at Dean as she tossed back another shot. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember her name. He'd just taken to calling her Shamrock after the sexy little stud that danced across her tongue, and his too, when she talked.<p>

"Calm down girl. Not all of us have this running through their veins." He laughed as he saw a group of men a few tables over chant something in a language he couldn't understand, and then an echo of 'To Tommy' followed closely. Actually, all night he'd been hearing chants and cheers like that, and he found it safe to say that he'd found a bar pretty close to where the dead guy had liked to hang his hat.

And Sammy thought he couldn't work and drink at the same time.

"So who's Tommy?" Dean slurred as he looked back over at Shamrock, who played with her red hair that definitely came out of a box.

"He's a friend in dis neighborhood. An' he went an took a dive out his window. "She crossed herself. "God rest his soul."

"That's a shame." Dean frowned. "They think he got pushed? Got a hit out or something?"

"Nah! Everyone loved Tommy. Never hurt a soul! Plus, anyone that read th' books loved him. Everyone loved him..." The girl's face fell, and her eyebrows knit together, comprehension dawning on her face the way it only does when drunk.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Well, he did have a lass, an' it was pretty serious. But she's been in da Isle fer the last year or so, ye know, family problems...but...according ta Erin, he'd been seeing a different lass on th' side." Shamrock whispered. Dean raised his eyebrow. Well, that changed the game.

"Oh really?" Dean asked. "Was it that Erin girl?"

"Oh fuck no." Shamrock shook he head before taking a shot. "Erin's th' usual barkeeper here. She was workin' two nights ago when Tommy died. She's gonna be a mess tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?" Dean asked, attention span slipping. His gazed traveled from her eyes, down to the cleavage that was peeking out through her sweater.

"Tommy's funeral." She whispered. "Life's short."

Funeral huh? Well, that was going to make viewing the body hard. Sammy was going to throw a fit over that. Unless...

"I sure would like to pay my respects." Dean mentioned, trailing his fingers up the girl's leg. She shivered.

"Then ye should. He deserves to be celebrated." She slurred and grabbed Dean's hand. "So let's go celebrate him."

"Let's do it."

* * *

><p>Even with a snowy walk of shame to endure, Dean felt pretty satisfied with himself. Not only had he gotten information on Tommy's other woman, but he'd also discovered when his funeral was. And, of course, the tongue ring. Not a bad haul for one night's work, and he'd even made it back to Shamrock's place, and avoided having to use his Baby. Not that the car hadn't done in a bind or two, but it had been cold as hell, and he didn't exactly want to die with that chick.<p>

The freshly fallen snow crunched under his feet as he headed back towards his motel room. He paused for a second, then reached down and grabbed a fist full of the powder. While he walked up the stairs, he manipulated the snow until it was a nearly perfect sphere. Quickly, he unlocked the room, and found Sam still asleep, mouth hanging open and hand hanging off the bed. Dean lifted his hand to throw the snowball, then Sam whimpered, and Dean second guessed himself. Sleeping, visions, that kid just never slowed down, and now? Now they were just working a case in between trying to find that Yellow Eyed Sum'bich, and it seemed like Sammy was getting tired. Not that Dean could blame him; Dean was tired too, and getting pretty close to being sick of this whole thing. And all they had to show for their hard work was a possible crossroads demon.

But Sammy needed him to be strong, and so, that's what Dean would be. With renewed vigor, Dean took aim and let his perfect snowball fly. It landed perfectly on the exposed side of Sam's face and he enjoyed watching his brother jump eight feet in the air and scream. While Sam was freaking out, Dean was bent over, laughing his ass off. Sam wiped some excess snow off of him, and stared at him. Dean only shrugged. "Snowed last night Sam."

"Dude, what the hell?" Sam asked, looking at his brother in shock. Dean only smiled and sat down on the other bed.

"So how'd the research go?"

"Damn it." Sam muttered as he wiped the rest of the snow off his face and chest. "Well, I found out where Kevin Tyler lives, and we'll be taking another trip down to Southie. And, we should probably head down to the police station and see what they have, and then the coroner. We'll need to take a look at Tomas' body, see if anything on him makes him look like a Hellhound's chew toy." Sam finished. "But that's really all I could dig up on the guy, the rest was just useless."

Dean stretched, and looked at his brother. "Oh yeah, by the way, it might not be a Crossroad's Demon."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, I got it on good authority that Edgar Allen Poe was screwing someone on the side, while his girl back home in the land of Guinness. She's supposedly coming back soon, so, maybe he told the new girl this, and she got mad. Little bit of witchcraft going on here."

"Yeah," Sam rubbed a hand over his face. "That could make sense too…either way; we should check the body, and then his place. You know, for signs of either."

"Well, we can go check out his house all we want, but they're burying McMullen today over at Gate Of Heaven church, so, I highly doubt that you're going to get to view the body." Dean tossed out, and Sam accepted the information with a bitchface.

"Fuck, seriously?"

"Yeah, but don't you worry none. My friend from last night asked me to be her date…so…"

Sam winced. "Please don't say what I think you're going to say."

"Suit up Sammy, we got us a funeral to catch."

* * *

><p><strong>Thank yous!: <strong>

**mb64: Ah! Thank you! I knew there was a typo in there, I just couldn't find it! Thanks for the review! I'm glad you liked it :D**

**Kjdw: Yes! I don't know how many chapters exactly, but this will have a few more! Thanks for the review!**

**Kathleensmiles: You'd think pie would be the first thing he'd think of xD Silly Sammy**

**Awh, it's set in season two xD I don't think there is Cazzy in here :(**

**And yes xD Dean is awesome...but I'm still a Sam girl xD**

**Thaks Kathy :)**

**Chemical Imblance: Why thank you! Hope you enjoyed the update! Sorry if it was a little short!**

**UrWorstNightmare97: Ah, Dean does love pie. It is pretty fantastic though, so who could blame him? and thank you xD As always Nightmare. **

**Playwithfire97: I'm not sure yet, I'll have to see what Sam and Dean say abut that xD But I think Erin might be around to stay!**

**Thanks guys :D Don't forget to review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Yay! Chapter three! And It's a long one too! :DD Hope you guys like it! It was pretty fun to write, I finally think I've found my 'Sam and Dean' place in my head! Cheers for that!**

**Disclaimer!: I don't own SPN, and in this chapter there will be swearing, drinking, and some blood. Enjoy!**

Chapter Three: Shoulder to Shoulder, Now Brother, We Carry No Arms

"I really don't think this is a good idea." Sam continued to pester Dean as they walked down the steps from the SBPD, case file securely in hand. Dean only rolled his eyes.

"Look, you wanted to see a body, and I found a way for you to do that." The elder rolled his eyes as he looked through the case file. "So instead of bitching about it, you should be kissing my ass."

"Can't we just-"

"You really wanna dig the guy back up a few hours later? Come on Sam, that's an even worse idea."

"It's the guy's _funeral_ Dean! I don't think we should be there."

"Hey, it's our case. Techinally, we should be there. Pay our respects to the guy. Besides, I'm sure we won't be the only stragglers. The guy was a famous author. There'll be a bunch of Hippie Chicks and Fangirls. The usual." Dean explained as he handed the file over to Sam. "But right now, we need to go talk to that guy."

Sam's eyes scanned over the paper. "Okay, Kevin Tyler. Lives down in Southie, witnessed our guy jump to his death-"

"But he wasn't alone."

"Right. There was another witness, and we need to find out who she is. Because whatever made them end up as witnesses, she dragged them there."

"So, let's go talk to an old guy." Dean smiled as he pulled open the car door. Sam shrugged.

"Let's hope he'll talk."

* * *

><p>Kevin Tyler wasn't an old man. He was older, sure, but the age on his face wasn't from the passing of time. It was from years of hard work, providing for a family that wouldn't really understand the sacrifice. It was from days upon days of slicing meat off a carcass, only to deal with a snooty woman explaining that he got her order wrong. The man was an embodiment of hard work and labor, and for that, the Winchesters immediately respected him.<p>

He reminded them of their father.

Mr. Tyler opened his door a little wider when he saw the suits, and eyed them wearily. "Can I help you boys?" Sam was a little surprised to find that he wasn't Irish, as he was fairly certain that this was an Irish neighborhood.

"Yeah, Hi. I'm Agent Connor." Dean started pulling out his badge. "This is Agent Murphy." He gestured to Sam, who stifled a groan as he dropped his own badge for the man. "FBI."

"FBI huh? I just talked to the cops a few days ago." The man explained. Dean nodded.

"We're just following up, doing our own file on the situation. Making sure the local PD covered all their bases."

"Why's the FBI interested in a suicide?"

"We want to make sure it is a suicide." Sam explained. "It's a little suspicious, a man about to strike rich jumping to his death before the big cash cow."

"Yeah, I understand. It is a little strange." Mr. Tyler nodded, and leaned against his door frame. "So, how can I help you two?"

"We were just wondering why you were out that night anyways." Dean started. "It was pretty late, and if the weather recently gives any indication, colder than recommended for an evening stroll, I'm sure."

"So why were you out there?" Sam finished for his brother. They both stared at the man, who scrubbed a worn hand over his tired face.

"I was out there with someone. Said they saw something. Wanted me to check it out for her."

"And why did you leave that out of your official statement?"

"They were worried that they might not be legal. That their papers might not check out."

"Sir, it is crucial that we speak with this person, if they say something strange, or out of the ordinary, then that information might change this entire investigation." Sam started, and he quickly looked past the man and into Mr. Tyler's apartment. The first thing he locked eyes on was a picture of a much younger Mr. Tyler, holding a little girl dressed like an Angel in front of a Christmas tree. "Please sir, we want to be able to at least tell his parents that he didn't do this to himself. We want to at least grant him that little bit of comfort."

The elder man tensed up at that, and the Winchesters could almost see his resolve breaking. For the umpteenth time in his life, Dean was impressed by the way his shaggy haired kid brother could flawlessly read people. Mr. Tyler sighed and looked up. "Can you promise me that if you question her, you won't let her get shipped out or detained by customs?"

"I give you my word." Sam promised, and Mr. Tyler examined his face for a second, before nodding.

"She's up on the fourth floor, 27B. Her name's Erin O'Connor. She's a good girl, hardworking." The man admitted, and Dean quickly wrote down her name and apartment number.

"Can you tell us what she saw?"

Mr. Tyler shook his head. "Well, sirs, she said she saw a monster."

The brothers glanced at each other, then back at the man. "A monster?"

"You heard me. She said it was a monster woman, with eyes as fresh as red blood. Said that is was just sitting there, screaming. But when I went back out with her to find it, there wasn't anything there." Mr. Tyler looked up again, then back towards the brothers. "Between you and me, the girl is overworked and greatly underpaid. She'd out late every night, and I think she ran into a tweaker or something. Or, possibly, her brain starting playing tricks on itself. There was nothing there. At all."

Sam looked at Dean, who only pressed his lips together. There usually was something, but he couldn't think of a damn thing that showed up to scream and then disappeared without causing any trouble. Maybe a Death Echo? But, that still wouldn't explain why Tomas McMullen was dead.

And, there was also 'Eyes red as fresh blood' to factor into the equation. Red eyes marked a Crossroads Demon…but…there was no reason that a Demon would stand outside of a window and scream…unless, the meatsuit was trying to get free, maybe trying to warn Tomas, but the Demon got ahold again.

Could people break possession?

"Well, thank you for your cooperation sir. We really appreciate it." Dean told the man as he pocketed his notebook. Sam nodded.

"You've been more help then you could possibly understand."

The man only nodded his response. "Go easy on her, alright. Like I said; over worked and underpaid."

* * *

><p>"Connor and Murphy?" Sam asked as they reached the landing. "Really?"<p>

"What?" Dean asked, scanning the apartment numbers for their girl.

"That's not totally suspicious or anything."

"Dude, those are like, two of the most common Irish names out there." Dean rolled his eyes. "No one's gonna question it." They walked down the hall until they found 27B, and Dean knocked on the door. "Besides, haven't you seen that movie? Those two are badass! Consider it a privilege to even fake wear their names."

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off when the door swung open, and before them stood a pale woman, her black hair half up, green eyes cracked with red around the edges, and dark bags under her eyes. Her legs, as Dean quickly noted, were longer than a mile, and ended in black high heels, why she herself was only wearing a black dress slip. Her pale face flushed red and she crossed her arms over her very reveled chest. "Can I help ye?" He brogue was thick, but not fresh off the boat.

"We're looking for Erin O'Connor." Dean answered, holding out his badge. Sam quickly followed suit. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Who's askin'?"

"I'm Agent Connor." Dean spoke.

"Agent Murphy. FBI."

"How'd ye find me?"

"Your neighbor told us."

"Dat no good-"

"Don't blame him." Sam immediately told her. "He had no choice but to tell us, or we would've had to take him in for obstruction of justice. We don't want to bring _anyone_ in today."

"But, that doesn't mean we won't." Dean finished, with a pointed look at the woman in front of them.

Her face went paler, and she brought her bottom lip between her teeth. "'M O'Connor. What do ye want?"

"We want to know what you were doing outside of Tomas McMullen's window the night he died."

Erin stood a little taller then, and cocked out a hip. "Why're da FBI interested in a penniless writer's suicide?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Well, he wasn't exactly penniless, now was he?"

"And we're not so sure it was a suicide." Sam finished. "Now, won't you tell us what you saw?"

"I saw him fly out of a damn fuckin' window and land right in front'a me. Ye ever seen a jumper Agents?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "No ma'am."

"Well, let me tell ye dat 'Splat' wasn't a made up word. Tis a mother fuckin' action." She spat. "He came out dat window wit a purpose, so don't ye dare try an' make this harder for his loved ones by trowin' out an imaginary killer."

"We're not sure of anything yet. Now, would you care to answer as to why you were even outside of his window in the first place?"

Her teeth clenched, and she looked away. "I got scared by some tweaker. She snuck up on me, flipping out. I got scared and ran back, brought Mr. Tyler out with me to check her out, and then Tommy jumped from his window."

"Tommy?" Sam asked. "So, you were close to him?"

"He's been around a while. Ye meet everyone around here." Erin answered.

"Tell me about this tweaker you saw. Anything stand out about her?" Dean pressed. Erin shook her head.

"Yer average run-a-da-mill drug whore." She muttered, body hunching in on itself. She was obviously lying, and Dean wasn't having any of that.

"Look, if you withhold information, we will take you downtown. And you will answer our questions." His tone was neutral, but Erin picked up on the hidden threat that came more from his eyes then his words. She only smirked back.

"Here's wha's goin' ta happen, Agent." She threw a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm goin' ta walk back in here, and get ready for Tommy's fuckin' funeral. Because he's dead, and he killed himself. And I have to stand in a church with all our friends, and wrap an arm around his sobbin' wan, and pretend like everythin' gonna be okay. I don't need yer fuckin' theory about a murder tha' didn't exist!"

"Tomas has a girlfriend?" Sam asked. The woman's eyes cut to his so quickly, he felt whiplash.

"Ye leave dat poor girl alone. She been in da Isle fer da past year. Ye don't fuckin' talk to her."

"Then what about the woman he was seeing on the side?" Dean asked, and she looked back at him.

"How da fuck did ye know about tha'?"

"I do my homework." Dean answered. "No listen, you have my condolences about your friend, really, you do. But we need to know everything you saw. From the tweaker, to his other woman. You need to tell us."

Erin eyed them, and her jaw clenched again. "If ye want ta talk ta me, bring me a fuckin' warrant." She snarled before slamming the door in their faces.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, before Dean sighed. "Do we actually need a warrant to arrest her for withholding information?"

"I have no idea." Sam sighed. "That was a waste of time."

"Not really, now we at least know that she does know something." Dean sighed. "We just need to get it out of here."

"MITCH! GET YER WARHOL LOVIN' ASS AWAY FROM THE MOTHER FUCKIN' PAINT AND GET SOME FUNERAL CLOTHES ON YE DUMB ASS MOTHER FUCKER! I AIN'T GONNA BE LATE BECAUSE YER FUCKIN' WASHING PAINT OUT OF YER HAIR!" Erin's voice boomed behind the door, and the two Winchesters winced.

"Oh," Sam's voice dripped sarcasm. "Is that all?"

* * *

><p>"Dude, I still think is a bad idea!" Sam muttered as he and his brother approached the steps to Gate Of Heaven Catholic Church. Dean rolled his eyes.<p>

"This is your one shot, and besides, this is a good way to search for the other woman. If she's there, she's probably looking pretty smug with herself."

"But-" Sam frowned and Dean only rolled his eyes again.

"Stop whining, and get your ass into that church." Dean ordered. Sam sent him a bitchface, but started heading up the stairs, shoulders slumped. Dean followed him in, and scanned the room briefly. Well, they weren't the only two who felt like they were in the wrong place. Half the room was already knelt down, deep in prayer, and the other side of the church was sitting their awkwardly, quietly talking, and looking anywhere but the casket in the front of the church. "So, what do you think?" Dean asked. Sam eyed both sides himself.

"Right side's the Irish friends and family, and left side is professional friends and coworkers." Sam decided. "Quite the strange mix."

"Well, at least we know where to sit, right?" Dean smiled and led him to the awkward side of the church, where they sat in a row of other people dressed in their best. Dean scanned the right side of the church, and elbowed Sam. "Hey, first row, next to that monster."

Sam followed his gaze, and saw Erin, with her arms wrapped around a sobbing blonde woman, who wasn't even pretending to hold herself up anymore. Everything around the woman screamed broken, and Sam could relate. He'd barely held himself up at Jess' funeral. "There's his girl."

"Yeah, and figures, she's with our new best friend."

"She can't stay with her the entire time. They'll have to part ways at some point." Music played through the church then, and Sam and Dean wisely shut their mouths. They knew they were in for it, but they hadn't expected the different twist to funeral that the right side of the church brought with them from an island far away from where they currently stood.

The readings were done in the thick brogue, and the prayers were almost melocdic, the sadness was silenced, and only given away by the tears that trailed down the women's faces. The men held strong, and let their eyes shine, but they wouldn't cry for the lad. It just wasn't done.

When the priest asked if anyone had anything else they wanted to say, men immediately rose from where they were sitting, and they spoke.

"Tommy was a good man." A tall man who introduced himself as Tomas' brother spoke first. "A hard worker, and a God fearing man. He did what he could to make sure me and our Ma always had enough food on the table. So, when I got to working age, and he started thinking about America, I encouraged it the best I could. After all, I was working too, and there was nothing I couldn't handle at home." The tall man looked back at the casket. "I should've made him stay. I wish I could've made him stay." He took a moment to himself, and spoke again. "We miss him."

The men slowly went through their personal eulogies, and they all started the same way. 'Tomas was a good man.' It seemed to be the highest praise an Irishman could bestow on someone. Dean understood that too, after all, if he had to sum up the people he surrounded himself with, he was pretty sure 'a good man' fit for all of them.

Finally, the priest asked for a second, then third time if anyone wanted to speak, and there was silence. Before he could put away the idea for good though, the blonde woman who could barely stand before was now walking determinedly towards the casket. She reached down into the open casket, and removed a rosary from the body, and replaced it with one she held in her other hand. With a shudder, she closed the lid and rested her hand on the sleek wood for a second, before continuing. "May da road rise ta meet ya, may da wind be always at yer back. May da sun shine warm upon yer face, may da rains fall soft upon yer fields, and until we meet again-" her voice cracked, but she immediately silenced it. "May da Lord hold ye in da palm of his hand."

Nothing else mattered after that, because everyone in that room knew that there was nothing that the priest could do, the family could do, the friends could do, or even the Lord could do to make that blonde woman's world okay again. Nothing would make it right, ever again.

Sam and Dean quickly crossed her off their list of suspects, ashamed that she was ever on there. Sam's head was down, his eyes focused on his shoes, and his head undoubtedly one Jess. Dean looked away, willing to look at anything but his broken brother next to him. Instead, Dean's eyes locked with green, up in the front row, and when the recognition dawned on Erin O'Connor's face, he'd never seen a human being look so mad.

* * *

><p>"Thank you for sharing in this time with the family of the departed," The priest spoke, after the final prayer had been spoken, and the final hymn concluded its sound. "They invited you to a celebration, to be held at McNeil's, just down the street."<p>

Sam and Dean looked at each other, and got comfortable. They were going to have to wait until the church cleared out before they could check out the body. They sighed, and watched sad face after sad face get up and leave the church. "So, think we should check out McNeil's too?" Sam asked, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah, we could probably pick up a few more pieces of this guy there."

Sam winced, as he remembered Erin's words. "Bad choice of words dude."

"Yeah, I realized that about two seconds before I said it." He admitted, and froze when he saw Erin, who was now, regrettably in an appropriate black dress, haul ass on heels towards them. Dean hissed a 'brace yourself' at his brother before he sat up, and flashed his 'I'm adorable' smile. "Ms. O'Connor."

"Agent." She spat. Her red cracked eyes from before looked even worse now, and the concealer she'd tried to paint under her eyes had been washed away by her tears. She looked like she hadn't slept at all in at least a week. "What are ye doin' here?"

"Paying our respects." Sam answered, and Erin almost growled, but she seemed to remember where she was.

"Ye ain't welcome here." She told them, and looked behind her. Dean looked back that way, and they didn't' see anything.

"Look, we're part of an investigation, and really, all we want is to find out what happened to Tomas-"

"Tommy!" Erin's voice rose. "He hated being called Tomas! He absolutely hated it!" Tears filled up her eyes, and she looked around again, but found nothing.

"Who are you looking for?"

"My boyfriend." She answered, and shook her head. "Please, just leave."

"We'll leave after we get to pay our respects."

"Respect a tombstone!" She snarled.

"We'll leave if you talk." Dean offered. And she looked almost appalled at his suggestion

"Tisn't da place fer dat!"

"We know where McNeil's is."

"Can't it wait?" She asked, with a frown. Dean shook his head.

"Look, we have a mystery woman of the deceased out there who may have had more of a part in this than anyone thinks! We need to know about the woman he was seeing, and the woman you saw outside of his place!"

"Wha'?" A watery voice spoke from behind them, and all of them turned to see the blonde woman from before, standing there shocked, tears streaming down her face. Dean swallowed his voice, and Sam's stomach dropped to his feet. "Wha' woman was he seein'?"

"Aislinn…please…" Erin started, but the woman only shook her head.

"Seein' someone else, and ye know Er?"

"He spoke of her sometimes…"

"I'm jus' a damn fool." Aislinn smirked as the tears flowed down her face. "Jus' a holy fuckin' fool." She turned from them, and walked away. Erin turned on the two of them with a vengeance.

"Way ta fuckin' go!" She snarled before turning to follow the broken hearted girl out the door.

Sam shook his head in shame, and felt awful. That wasn't what they had intended to do in the slightest. Dean however, had his eyes narrowed in thought. He'd felt awful sure, but he'd discovered a lot in those last few minutes. Namely, when Aislinn had appeared behind them, and when Erin had taken one look at her streaming tears, a fear so raw had been in her eye, Dean had been shocked she didn't scream.

Two things solidified for him then. One, there was no way this was a witch. And two, whatever Erin had seen sure as fuck wasn't a tweaker. Not if it scared her like that.

There was a Hunt here, now he was sure of it.

"Come on." He ordered Sam. "We're going to that pub."

"But...what about the body?"

"We won't find anything. Come on, We need to go to that pub."

* * *

><p>Erin slammed down two more shots of whiskey, and then filled the glasses up, and sent them out towards the crowds that were swarming around the bar, trying to get a glass so they could wish Tommy goodbye again. Mr. McNeil hadn't wanted to ask her to fill in today, but he said that Mitch hadn't come to the funeral, and he'd called him already.<p>

It made Erin so mad she was seeing red. First, those two FBI idiots ruin everything that Aislinn had left in her life, and then, Mitch doesn't even fucking show up to one of his best friend's funeral. What the fuck was in the water these days that left everyone…so fucking stupid!

She just kept on filling glass after glass until the crowd started dying down, and there were only stragglers left at the bar. It was monotonous work at this point, and she wasn't really thinking as she worked, she was focused on her anger, hot and red and burning through her veins. So, she was really surprised when an empty glass was slid over to her, and once she filled it up, and slid it back over, she was staring at Agent Murphy, a tentative look on his face. Erin felt her face contort into a snarl.

"Ye got some nerve, I'll give ye dat."

The Agent only held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, this wasn't my idea." He threw his thumb over his shoulder. "He had a date."

Erin followed the trail that ended with Agent Connor, looking nervous as he spoke to one of the girls in the pub with bright red hair. "Teagan?" She asked. "When'd he meet her?"

Agent Murphy, however, was too busy snorting into his drink to answer. "Teagan! Her name is Teagan?"

"Was da last time I checked, aye."

"Well, that explains the panicked look on his face." If Erin didn't know better, she'd say that he looked smug. "He told me that he was going to go talk to Amanda."

Despite herself, Erin smiled. "She's gonna kill him."

"He deserves it." Agent Murphy answered before taking a drink of the whiskey. Erin thought about it for a second, and realized she was mad at Mitch and Agent Connor, but this one really hadn't done anything. Besides, it would be better for her if she knew exactly what they were formulating.

"Da two of ye are close huh? Worked together a long time?"

"Very long time." Agent Murphy answered. "He's like family at this point."

"I understand dat." Erin grinned. "Family's da people ye care about."

"Exactly."

"See all da people here Agent Murphy-"

"Please, call me Sam."

"-Sam den. Ye see all da people here, they're my family. Especially since mine really is far away." Her eyes locked with his. "I'd do anything ta protect them. Understand."

"More than you know."

"So ye understand then, why I'm not willin' ta run off and tell ye about the hallucinations of an overworked lass that might change everytin'. I couldn't protect Tommy, but I can protect da rest from this fucking emotional roller coaster." She reached for his glass, and Sam grabbed her wrist. It wasn't a strong hold, but it got her attention.

"And what if your silence is putting them in danger? Whatever you saw, do you want it to come for someone else?"

"An' what could a tweaker do to me family from da streets?" She asked. Sam stared at her face for a second before smiling and shaking his head.

"You know what a 'tell' is?"

"Wha'?"

"A tell, you know, like poker?" He raised an eyebrow. "Something that gives the game away, makes it easier to tell that they're lying."

"Oh really?"

"Yup. Every time you've tried to brush off what you saw that night, your eyes to the left, and you make a fist with your left hand." Sam explained, and Erin looked down and saw her left hand was in a fist, just like he'd said. She raised her eyebrows, and frowned.

"Train ye good in da FBI?"

"You have no idea." Sam smirked. The sound of a palm against face echoed throughout the bar, and both Erin and Sam looked back to see Teagan storming off, and Agent Connor rubbing his face ruefully. Sam sighed and emptied his drink. "I better go drag Dean back to the motel. Thanks for the drink."

"Thanks fer drinkin'." She answered, and accepted his payment, and his tip. "Appreciate it."

"Anytime, and here, take this too." He slid a piece of paper on Lucky Draw Motel stationary. It had his number on it, and his room number…or she thought it was his room number. It was a hastily drawn Ace of Spades card. She eyed it and looked up at him.

"Ye know, I have a boyfriend."

Sam laughed. "Don't flatter yourself honey, that's in case you feel like talking. Me and my partner, we're ready to listen. No matter how crazy it sounds." The tall man got up then, and walked over to his drunk friend, and the two of them headed out the door to the pub. Erin's eyes narrowed as she thought about it.

_No matter how crazy it sounds?_ Why would the tweaker sound crazy? It was a pretty common occurrence in Southie. There was one on every corner. _He's not talkin' about da tweak, he's talking about da Monster._

Erin shut her brain off then, throwing herself back into another late night of drinking, and empty cups. It was easier when she didn't have to think about it.

* * *

><p>Once again, she was alone in a dark empty bar. Except this time, there wasn't a moody author hiding in the corner. Erin worked through closing with a hazy mind, the alcohol, exhaustion and sadness clogging up her mind, making it hard to focus on anything else. She just wanted to leave, and get home, crawl under their one blanket, and sleep for a day and a half.<p>

She pulled out her hair and let the black locks flutter around her hair while she ran her fingers through it to prevent a headache from forming. She was tired, she really was.

She scrubbed down the last of the tables, and smiled for her efforts. It was clean once more, and that mean she could go home. With the wool socks. Erin turned back towards the sink, arm raised to sink the rag into the basin from where she stood, when she froze, and a scream trapped in her throat.

Standing at the sink, with steam rising up from the water, was a woman. Her hair was white as snow, and her shoulders shook under the grey cloak that concealed them from Erin's view. A sniff escaped every now and then, and Erin wanted to cry, because this wasn't the monster that had been outside of Tommy's building. This was different, her hair was white.

Which meant she wasn't here for Tommy.

The woman started crying, and looked back at Erin. Her eyes were blood red, just like the other's and tears streamed out of them steadily. She was sobbing now, but not with the severity that the other had been, and Erin saw her hands submerged into the scalding water of the sink. Without breaking eye contact, the woman reached for the brush that was near the sink and pulled some fabric out of the sink. She scrubbed furiously at the cloth, and when she pulled the brush away, the bristles were painted with blood.

Erin dropped to her knees and screamed, fear traveling into the darkest parts of her body, and stopping all blood flow while her heart went into overdrive.

When she looked back up, the woman was gone, and the only sign that she had ever been there was a bloody brush next to a scalding sink.

Erin swallowed another scream and decided it was time to call those Agents.

* * *

><p><strong>So, what do you think? :D Wanna leave me a review and let me know? Last chapter didn't go over so well, so I hope this one's better!<strong>


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